Cruel Mornings
by Gaara and his Little Panda-kun
Summary: Alexander dreams of the skies, the ground, his love-his HOME. And oh, what the night provides to him is nothing compared to what the morning takes away. Alexandercentric. An emotional thing. Also kind of speculating about his home.


He sighed quietly, his hair moving about him as he took a form that he felt comfortable with. The wind was blowing gently, sliding through his silver tresses, and he breathed in deeply, gratuitous that the air finally smelled the way he remembered; clean, alive, and jubilant, like home. The ground, steady beneath his feet, felt more as though it were pushing up against him, supporting him and yearning for him to jump, to reach up for the stars; to fly.

He finally smiled, though it was strained, as hands slid between his shoulder blades to rest amiably on his shoulders themselves, a pair of lips kissing him just behind his ear. A darker shade of hair mingled with his own as the air blew quietly and the world grew still in all of its glory, the only ambience the sound of two beating hearts. He moved his own hand up hesitantly, his smile strained until his hand landed atop one that rested on his breastbone. He could feel the smooth skin beneath his fingertips, and felt a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders, the pressure sending a spark running down his spine. His smile was now genuine.

"My love?" he quested, keeping his eyes closed, afraid to open them and see only the melancholy that reality could provide. _If this is a dream_, he thought to himself, almost pleading to whatever deity reigned supreme over his place of exile, _please, let it last forever._

"Dearest," echoed the youthful voice back to him, and his smile nearly hurt his cheeks, his sharpened teeth leaning out over his bottom lip. His beloved cooed behind him, on her tiptoes to grace his earlobe with another kiss, running her hand up his neck and to his sharp jaw, running along it and upward to press lovingly to his cheekbone. "You've grown thin." Her tone was almost playfully chiding.

"I have worked hard to get to where I am now." That was his only reply, and the only reply he knew she'd need; he heard her laugh, smiling appreciatively, and she pressed more firmly into his back. She was still as she was before; languid, beautiful, curved gently, quite unlike the harsh Austrian slopes back in hell. It felt good, for once, to be surrounded by orbs and sweeping dips than the angular, jutting appendages he had grown foolishly used to.

"In my arms, you mean?" Her nails accidentally scratched his cheek, but there was no harm in it; he'd missed her little mistakes, her little slip-ups that made her all the more dear to him because she made them so innocently. Innocence. He'd spent a long time forgetting what it was.

He nuzzled toward her hand, and she cooed again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He longed to turn to her and take her in his arms, remember the map her body made, but he could not; not if he did not want to break the spell. Instead, he simply remained standing still, allowing her hand to slip down his arm while her other one came to rest at the crook of his neck. She gripped his hand as she let her chin rest on his shoulder. She was still tip-toeing to remain even close to his height, but he adored that about her.

"Are you alright, my love?" she asked quietly, uncertainty clouding her usually carefree voice. He hated to hear that kind of sadness tainting her brightness; especially after being so far from her, and feeling so comfortable in her arms. Despite all he's ever done, that is the only thing for which he will call himself a monster.

He grasped her hand, the one that rested easily on his neck, and brought the palm to his lips, kissing it softly. She cooed once again, and he found the noise comforting. "Forgive me, my sweet," he murmured, caressing her palm with his lips as he spoke. "I have not been myself as of late. I have missed you truly, and it has taken its toll on me."

She sighed, squeezing his hand that was grasped in her own encouragingly. "You are already forgiven. There is nothing for which I can begrudge you." She moved her head to nestle in between his shoulder blades, inhaling deeply, as if trying to catch his scent. "I have missed you as well, but you have me now, my darling; and you know that we can hide nothing from each other."

Indeed, they could not; tentatively, he reached out with the tendrils of his mind, and suddenly, he was drawn to a willing space in the psyche open to him, suddenly embraced by all of the love she felt for him. It cascaded over his subconscious like a waterfall; he openly shed a tear. "My love!" he cried, suddenly wracked with despair. "My sweet, sweet soul! Why have I tormented you with the length of my exile?" He felt anguish overwhelm him, kissing her hand once more. She grasped his hand more tightly, coming closer to him as she stood behind him.

"It was not your fault; do not blame yourself." Still, he felt her tears stain the garb that covered him, and his chagrin only grew. "I am only so happy that you have returned, my love; I yearned deeply for you." She sighed, a smile curving on her delicate face; he could feel it enveloping her mind, calming him, soothing him like balm to a wound. "And now, I have you."

He smiled. "Yes," he murmured deeply, his baritone earning a sigh from her, "and I, you."

And then he opened his eyes.

Brennenberg always smelled like a dark cave, even when the morning sun was rising through the curtains and streaming into his face just so. After waking him with a kindness he grudgingly admitted was admired, it always left him wanting something more. As he sat up in his sheets, his nightgown hanging off his thin shoulders and resting just at the bend of his knees, he realized all the things he missed about home. The sheets were smoother, the sun was lighter, the nightclothes were more comforting, and he never woke up alone.

As he got up and arranged for a bath to be run for him by the servants, he looked in the mirror and ruminated on one last thing.

At home the mornings, though not as kind, were certainly not as cruel.

_**A/N: Another drabble, this time about home. Oh, Alexander. Truthfully, the ending I chose for that game was Agrippa's ending first. But then I replayed the game, and, already knowing what I knew about Alexander, I decided to let him go the second time around. I really feel bad for him; he's the pitiable villain, the one you wish would win sometimes, like the Phantom of the Opera.**_

_**Anyway, do not own Phantom nor Alexander; all rights to those who have them. Hope you enjoyed.**_


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